


Lucky Dog

by realjane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Smell, Taste, TasteofSmut 2020, Touch, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: Thanks to a new marriage initiative for the betterment of wizard-kind, SIrius Black finds himself wed to the woman of his dreams. He has no idea that she's been dreaming of him, too. Maybe this arranged marriage thing isn't so bad...*Written for the Taste of Smut Fest, 2020.*
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 20
Kudos: 281
Collections: Good Girl Hermione, Taste of Smut Fest





	Lucky Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt # & Claim Type: Prompt #15 for Fic  
> Prompt: consummating an arranged marriage  
> Senses: Taste, Smell, Touch  
> Pairing: Hermione/Sirius  
> Special Requests: age gap, forced marriage, Sirius adores Hermione but she doesn't know it, wedding night, foreplay, consent as a product of desire, a sprinkle of angst  
> Squicks & Triggers: no one is a virgin, no overuse of "kitten" petname  
> Max Rating: E

_He was one lucky dog._

Sirius turned the key and swung open the mahogany door for his wife.

"This is lovely," she offered. "Better than I expected." He placed his hand at the small of her back and encouraged her forward, so he could shut the front door. His fingertips tingled as they brushed against the white silk.

He was a husband... to this glorious creature of wit and wisdom in the body and beauty of Persephone, herself. It was an impossible blessing that, of all the unmarried witches in England, the Ministry would choose her for him. He felt unworthy. The only explanation was dumb luck.

He scratched his jaw. He could think of worse things than having his life revolve around her.

The war had unraveled the hardness he developed over twelve years in Azkaban and left him feeling as though his one purpose was to protect his god son. Harry didn't need him anymore, so Sirius was bereft of direction. That he had been deemed suitable for this new course of action was in a way a compliment to his reputation as a reformed wizard, but had given him many sleepless nights. How could he ever have thought he was fit to father a child, let alone embark on a marriage arrangement of the Ministry's creation?

Lonely and drunk on firewhiskey, he had owled in his volunteer statement hours before the deadline. _I can be of use! There was still some fight left in me--old dogs, new tricks, what._ He hoped he never saw his statement again. 

The witches and wizards coupled under the new Preservation of Wizarding Kind Act were volunteers, so all were cognizant of what their arrangements indicated, which meant Hermione knew. He had watched her sign the contract.

Hermione. 

Hermione had become a beacon to him since the war; it was Hermione who found him a position with the Department of Histories, a post he had never dreamed of holding until she vouched for his 'voracity of mind.' It was Hermione who came to his office every afternoon for tea and company.

Hermione who brought him a sandwich from the caf if he forgot to eat.

Hermione who gave him a bottle of his favorite scotch on his birthday.

Hermione. _Hermione._

"Hey." She nudged his elbow, shaking him out of his reverie. She smiled as he blinked down at her. "Are you all right?"

He patted her hand and grinned. "Aren't I always?" 

She squeezed. At work, in public, when they were alone... she was always taking his arm or his hand to get his attention. How many times had he taken hers because she had first extended it? She was touchy-feely, he told himself. Now she wore a ring on her finger which matched his, and he found himself wondering how it happened.

Logically, he knew. He volunteered for the initiative, they were paired, they signed a contract, they were linked. How had he been so lucky to get _her_?

"I know it's late, but I want to unpack a bit," she said. "I crossed my fingers that there would be bookshelves..." Hermione trailed off. The furnishings were modest, at least in the living room--a sofa, two wing-back chairs, small side-tables. Everything screamed 'french country' quaintness.

He chuckled. "Go look around."

Her eyes glinted with an unspoken emotion. "Alright. Would you put the kettle on?"

"If there is one to be had," he agreed. 

"Thank you!" She toed off her white kitten heels beside the door. Her bag dangled from her elbow as she pranced down the hall. 

He let out a long breath and scratched at his trim beard. 

He shucked off his coat; Harry had tried to talk him into a new set of dress robes for the ceremony, but Sirius didn't see why it mattered. For one thing, it was a civil function performed in a registration office by a judge. What was the point? Besides, Hermione liked this coat. She had helped him decide on the burgundy, had protested when he said he was too old for such a color, and frequently complimented him on it when he wore it to the Ministry. So what if the edges were frayed? He draped the coat over the back of the chair and went off in search of the kitchen.

The cottage was modest, but the fact that it wasn't Grimmauld Place made it comfortable. He had been loath to bring her to the Black family home--it would be akin to dragging her to the underworld, where the paintings muttered about her, and the house elf actively called her that nickname. Even if she had spent brief time there during the war, it wouldn't do. They had agreed her tiny studio flat was too small; the Ministry was providing accommodations for pairs who needed them. Neither Hermione nor Sirius was above such an offer. Which is how they ended up here--a small cottage in Kent, with window boxes and a minuscule garden.

The kitchen was indeed equipped with a tea kettle, and every other amenity one might need. Sirius cuffed his sleeves to the elbows and braced against the counter as he waited for the water to boil. 

It loomed over him, the third clause of the contract: 

'The marriage will be sealed by consummation within twenty-four hours of the ceremony. If the first anniversary of the agreement has come and passed and no child has been conceived, the pair may elect to be re-assigned. If the pairing has proved to be in any way harmful to either party, the contract may be annulled after review. Etcetera.' 

Gods. He looked down at his hands.

Rough. Callused. It should be a crime to put these hands on such a soft body. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, but a lock fell over his face again. He set his jaw and stared daggers into the rug.

"Sirius?" He jumped. Hermione stood before him, having turned off the whistling kettle. She was no longer in her white silk robes, nor wearing the small fascinator with attached netting; instead, she wore a cotton sleeveless top and black stretch pants, and her hair fell down her back in loose waves. He cursed inwardly. She was adorable, and the lycra hugged her legs more intimately than any garment he had ever seen her in. She smiled and shook her head. 

"Don't fall asleep on me now."

He cleared his throat, willing his body to remain neutral with her standing so close to him. "I'm knackered. Did you find a bookshelf?"

"Alas, I did not." She discovered a jar of tea bags above the sink labeled 'chamomile' and two cups, not bothering to ask if he wanted any. She never asked, she always brought him his own share of whatever she had.

"I'll build them for you," he said. 

Her face lit up. "Are you handy?"

"My dear, I think I am capable of building shelves," he laughed. "I'll be less useful if you want an armoire, on the other hand."

"We have one." She lifted herself onto the counter and leaned her head back against the cabinets.

"Do we?"

"Mmm. It's not quite my style, but I suppose the Ministry did the best they could." 

Sirius loosened his necktie--he was being choked. Hermione beckoned for him to come closer. As soon as he was within arm's reach, she plucked his tie free. She slipped it under her curtain of hair and tied it back off her shoulders. Sirius rubbed his throat.

"Is it all to your liking?"

Her head tilted as she studied him from her perch. He hated when she did that, because it always meant she was about to say something which made him feel silly for worrying about it. She had an annoying sense for these things.

"May I see your arm?" she asked.

His eyebrows reached for his hairline and he coughed. "Which... which one do you want to inspect?"

She pointed to his right, and held out her hand. He took it. She ran her pointer finger over the marks peeking out from under his sleeve. "I've never seen this one," she said. The one in question was the rune on his forearm, surrounded by script. "What does it mean?" Her thumb brushed the star-like tattoo.

He vibrated at her touch. She seemed not to notice. "It's a Norse rune meaning 'Hagall.' Cold, more or less."

"And the writing?"

"It's Old Norse. A protection spell."

"Against?"

"Dementors."

Her eyes flicked up to him sharply, and she let out a small breath. "You did this in Azkaban?" She looked pained to ask but somehow it didn't bother him that she would. When Hermione asked, it was because she felt like it was important.

"Couldn't cast a patronus charm."

"Are they all spells?" 

"Most."

"Show me?"

His mouth went slack. "You want to see them?" 

She nodded. He peered at her intently for a moment. If only she knew what she did to him. He prayed to whatever gods he could think of that his body would not betray him if she insisted on prodding his skin. Especially to see his ill-fated attempts at protecting himself, the way he had frantically carved himself to stay sharp. He did not want her to see it. She would have to eventually.

Then, she smiled. She raised an eyebrow.

Sirius went to work on his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He let them hang open, so she could see how he was marked. Hermione scooted to the edge of the counter. She poked the runes at his neck in silent questioning.

"Dreamless sleep spell."

"Did it work?"

"Too well." He tensed as she passed over a scar and under his collarbone, where she paused over one of his largest tattoos. "Nyd. Need."

He grasped her hand and pressed it to the rune below his sternum. "This one got me out of there."

Her tongue darted out, and she licked her lips. "Looks like an alchemy symbol."

He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "Amalgamation."

"Animagus," she translated and he nodded. With her free hand, Hermione combed his hair back. 

"It's too long. I need a haircut."

"Not so." Her eyes searched his. "Hey... You're not yourself. What's wrong?"

He looked away. She saw too much, too clearly, always had--she was clever long before he spent significant time with her. Now, at thirty-one, she was a blinding force. Beautiful, but what did it matter when she was gentle and kind and passionate? He had loved only once before, so he knew what he felt for her wasn't love. By gods, it would be easy to do so, if he let it happen. She cupped his cheeks. 

"Look at me," she urged. He did. "What are you thinking about?"

"I hardly know."

"I'm sorry. This is a lot to contend with in one day. I don't want to needle you."

His face softened. "Never?" 

"Not today at least." She smoothed his shirt. "We can act as though we are fond of one another, can't we?"

Sirius pulled her hair over her shoulder. He sighed. "I am fond of you." He tucked a finger under her chin. 

She swallowed. "Are you?" 

"Helplessly." Sirius moved closer, standing between her knees. 

She grazed the down-turned corner of his mouth. "You're sad."

"I'm not--" 

"You look it."

He shook his head. "Take care with how closely you scrutinize, Hermione. You might not like what you see."

Hermione was right. He was not himself. They were always laughing at one another for this or that, always teasing. It was an easy affability, a generosity of spirit which leant itself so well to a true friendship. She always teased him that he learned his manners as a dog, and Merlin did he wish he could live in his animagus form and follow her around like a lost puppy, rather than subject himself to her knowing gaze at this moment. This felt dire in a way which sapped all the humor from him. 

She said nothing and pressed her lips to his cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. They had hugged a million times before. How often had smelled her jasmine soap, knowing the welling in his chest was a foolish fantasy? For all the turmoil in his heart, he couldn't help but feel... relieved. 

After the awkwardness of this first night together... what would they be to each other? 

The thought of affection between them--true sentiment, not forced by their coerced marriage--made him hope like he didn't allow himself to hope since they first received their letters. He couldn't put words to it, but the truth of it would come out the more they put effort into it. For now, it was an unspoken part of their formal agreement. 

Was marriage going to make him stoic? He scoffed at the thought. 

Hermione sat back. "Kiss me?" 

He blinked.

Her fingers settled on the veins in his neck, which were pronounced as he clenched his teeth. "Just... I feel your heart racing and I think we both know what we must do. Surely it would be easier--"

His thumb traced over her bottom lip and stopped her train of thought. "If that's what you wish." His voice was low. Sirius weighed the cost of giving in to such a request, to his delicate resolve. Her gaze flicked to his mouth. His resolve broke.

He should have known she wouldn't kiss like some teenager, but when she dipped her head, it became obvious. Her lips asked to touch, gently. He gave her the opportunity to pull back after a peck. She didn't; Hermione's hand crept into his hair, and he wound his arms around her waist. He moaned when her tongue flickered against his lips. 

Kissing her awakened something in him. A quiet thing. Small, but heated. It went straight to his cock, too.

She tasted like honey and flowers; her mouth was warm, her lips pliant. He cradled her head in his hands. She pulled back but her eyelids were heavy, betraying the true effect of the intimacy--lips swollen, hair mussed. He smiled at the sight of her undone. 

"Was that alright?"

Hermione nodded once and glanced at his mouth again. "So, that answers one question." She angled forward again to kiss him. He laughed against her mouth.

"What?"

"...compatibility," she said. Her cheeks flushed. Pieces of hair had fallen down.

"I like your hair free," he murmured. He pulled his necktie from her hair and eased a newly-fallen lock behind her ear. 

"Do you?"

He gave her a dark look. He ghosted his fingers down her arms and back up again, leaving behind a trail of goose flesh. "I do."

"Sirius... you know what we must do..." 

"Yes." He had been dwelling on it for the last month, caught between desire and dread. First, fear he would be paired with someone who found him repellent, and then pray that this woman wouldn't.

"Are you... amenable to the terms?"

"Which?"

"That it must happen... tonight..."

Sirius' hands settled on her knees. No. No, he wasn't. "Yes." 

"I... I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything, or feel any certain way. But I'm glad it's you they chose for me." Her hands curled in his shirt. She refused to let him go. He brushed her chin.

"Go on."

Hermione lifted her hand. "Can I touch you?" she asked, as if she hadn't done so with her lips, as if she hadn't let him touch her, too. He nodded. Her fingers memorized his chin. "I've always... felt things. About you. Independent of our history, I... I was thankful that it was you, but I'm afraid you'll think me too eager to make something work which is in essence an arranged marriage, so I want you to know that I--"

His lips captured hers--to breathe with her, to feel her. His ribs felt ready to crack open. When she panted, Sirius pulled away. He felt the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

"I adore you," he confessed. "Trust me--that it is you is enough."

"Sirius..." 

"You could've had so much better." He locked his hands behind her back.

Hermione shook her head and pulled his hands from her waist. She slid into the void between them. Her hands fell to his chest. 

"Enough of that." 

The hallway revealed the rest of the house, but he didn't see any of it. Her hand pulled him along, past open doors, to the end of the hall. It was dimly lit and small, but the bedroom had a bed large enough for two and an armoire. The bed had been dressed; a conspiratorial smile told him she had done it. She gestured for him to sit. She held out her hand.

"Wand?"

He unholstered his wand from the calf-strap and handed it over. Hermione set it on top of the armoire. She turned back to him. Merlin, she was so beautiful--the yellow light from a lap beside the bed made her skin glow. 

"Why did you volunteer?" he asked.

She smiled. "Why did you?"

Sirius looked at the ground. "Why not? I was lonely. It was a chance to do something for wizard-kind. Be useful. You?"

"I wanted a family," she said. "I am repugnant to men by virtue of my notoriety, and I want to be a mother. It seemed logical."

"You are _not_ repugnant." Hermione stood out of his reach but his fingers itched to hold her. Sirius carded a hand through his hair. "I am not a young man, Hermione. I... whatever attraction I might have had for you was sapped from me in Azkaban, I'm sure. I look so much older than I feel, and it is... improper to want you as much as I do. But I do, and I have."

Her face softened into a pitying look. "How long?" She spoke lowly but her voice was even and kind.

"Since you got me the job in Histories, I think."

"Hang on," she said, holding up a hand to silence him. "You did that. I got you in the door, but you earned that position, Sirius."

She closed the gap between them, and he looked up at her, angel that she was. She smoothed the worry lines between his eyebrows. "You are handsome."

"You're humouring me."

"Gods--you're obtuse." 

Hermione knelt and pointed to his boots. He nodded. She drew the laces out of the grommets on his left first, and then the right. She eased the dragon-hide boots from his feet. He sent up silent thanks that he was diligent about scourgifying them, so they didn't stink. She would laugh if he told her, but this wasn't the time to amuse her. Not when her head was so near his crotch, and she was trying to prove her point. She nodded to his belt buckle and her hands floated centimeters from it, waiting for his permission. He gave it with a curt bow of his head. She worked the leather from the metal. The belt was liberated from the loops with a yank, which also scooted him to the edge of the bed. Closer still to her touches. He was hard as a rock and moved to adjust himself, but Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"Not your job," she said simply. He couldn't help but smirk at her boldness, but the smile fled from his face as she released the button and zip. He tilted forward reflexively and she paused. "Yes?"

"If... if I prove unsatisfactory in some way, I will make it up to you in another." He watched her eyelids flutter as she processed what he might mean by that. What he meant was: he was ready to explode the moment she touched him, and he would worship whatever part of her body she wanted all night if she needed it, as many times as was necessary. He wasn't sure how ready he could be for her if he came before she could be satisfied, but his mouth and hands would do their due diligence.

She was undeterred. Hermione nipped at his lips, and he once again tasted the faint flowery sweetness of chamomile on her breath. He huffed a ragged breath as her little hand palmed him through the tweed. Independent of his will, his cock twitched. She smiled against his mouth. His trousers proved little defense against the invasion of her determination. She tugged at the trousers, and he hastily laid back to oblige her; he eased the fabric over his hips and kicked them off his feet. His desire was evident, tented in his briefs. Hermione traced a finger up his thigh in the same pattern as the tattoo printed there, and straddled his leg. 

"Have you ever felt a woman so wet, you can tell through her clothing?" She moved one of his hands to her center, to feel her. She had soaked through her skin-tight leggings. He growled and kissed her hard. Hermione ground herself against his thigh as his tongue invaded her mouth. "How could you think--gods," she keened, "that you're not attractive?"

Sirius massaged her clit. "Taking my trousers off did this to you?" His voice came out gruff.

"Kissing you did," she whispered. "The trousers were for your benefit." Her hands crept beneath his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. The fabric rustled to the floor. 

Hermione crossed her arms over her torso and removed her top in one swift movement, granting him a front row view of her breasts rising with each labored breath. She slipped off his thigh and undid the holster around his calf. Then, she knelt between his legs. "Can I put my mouth on you?"

He coughed. "Uhm. Yes." 

She pushed on his chest, and he leaned back on his elbows. Hermione smiled at him innocently and held his gaze as she freed him from his briefs. He didn't see what she did next because his eyes rolled back in his head. Her lips touched the head softly. His elbows betrayed him and Sirius fell back.

Her mouth was like velvet--she took him half-way, tongue laving at the vein oh the underside of his shaft. Warm, soft, sucking in one moment and then teasing with drags of silky lips along the sensitive skin. As soon as her hand found the base, he wasn't long for such languorous torture. He couldn't warn her, words would not come out of his mouth. It felt like hours and seconds--but he bit his lip as he released, and she hummed her delight as he came down from his high. He finally managed to open his eyes; she used her top to wipe her chin and then clean him off. Sirius sat bolt upright as she patted him with the soft fabric, and she silently laughed.

"Sensitive?" she teased. He hauled her up by her elbows, kissing her desperately. He could taste himself on her lips. Those perfect, sensual lips which he was liable to bruise if he continued to kiss her like that. She melted against his chest. 

"I believe you, n-now," he stammered as she broke the kiss to breathe. Her face filled with a grin. 

"If you think I was wet before..."

Sirius laid her over his knee. She squeaked in surprise. Sure enough, he could make out a growing dark spot below her arse cheeks, and he stroked it. "My gods," he said. "You're going to kill me." He massaged the spot between her legs, feeling the faint outline of her folds through the stretchy material. She wiggled under his ministrations, and he got a wicked idea. 

He grasped the waistband of her leggings and rucked it over her arse, exposing her skin to the air. She was not wearing knickers, a fact which had him half-hard again. She arched her back in search of his touch. Sirius groaned. He couldn't decide how he wanted to stroke her bare skin for the first time, her center that is.

"Sirius," she warned. He chuckled. "Are you going to just sit there and ogle me?"

"Ogle?" He ghosted his hand down her left buttock and the muscle flexed. "I was contemplating how good you smell."

"Damned dog," she growled, slapping his leg. He barked with laughter and let his finger dip between her legs. Her hips lifted immediately and she wheezed. "Please."

"What do you want?"

"Inside."

"Don't you like being teased?" He wanted to prolong her pleasure as long as possible, but his cock was already straining against her stomach with her writhing. He gave in to her desperate whimpers and slipped one finger inside her heat. If her mouth was velvet, her pussy was silk satin; it didn't take much for him to work a second inside. He bent his head to her shoulder and kissed it. He moved his hand out ever so slightly and back in, thrusting his fingers towards the spongy softness. Hermione's head fell forward.

"Oh my gods--you have been teasing me all day! Pretending... mmmph... that you don't see me trying."

"Does this seem like I'm teasing, darling?" Sirius added a third and she bucked. She gasped again, working herself on his fingers as his hand stilled to torture her. 

He removed his hand from her, and she went limp over his leg, gasping for breath. Her knees shook. She shoved off him and divested herself of the leggings, glaring at him. She nodded for him to scoot backwards on the bed, and he did. Hermione crawled up the covers and threw her knee over his straining cock. Her hand reached between them, and she sheathed herself over him without preamble. 

"So good," she sobbed as he surged to meet her. He rolled them and pinned her to the bed, so deeply inside her that she hooked her legs over his shoulders for purchase. He moved slowly, giving her the whole of the sensation of their joining. Hermione's teeth scraped against his bottom lip. "You can be rougher."

Sirius snapped his hips, eliciting a gasp from her lips which demanded another. "What else do you like?"

"What you did... with my leggings..." She canted her hips. "So hot. Take charge. I'm not fragile."

"Noted."

"I like to be surprised. Everywhere. Nothing is off limits--just ask!"

"Do you always talk this much?" He thumbed her clit and felt her flutter around him.

"You know me," she shrugged, smiling even as pleasure took her over.

"Yes, I do." He pulled out of her enough to flip her to her stomach and yanked her backwards. Her hair dragged over the bed sheets and obscured her face, but he gleaned her response as he pushed into her again. She curled her fingers into the sheets above her head.

The first sign of her oncoming orgasm was the way her insides squeezed him. He drummed his fingers down her back to the nape of her neck as he thrust into her. Hermione's thighs vibrated as her orgasm took over. He reached beneath her to find her clit again, and she made an involuntary yelp of over-sensitivity. Still, she kept moving, enticing him to his own end.

"Come, now," she breathed. "Sirius--please!"

He doubled down on his ministrations but when her fingers found his sac, his cock shuddered and his release shot through him like an electric shock. He collapsed over her, stopped from crushing her only by pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades. Her skin smelled of jasmine and sweat, and he thought he had never smelled something so satisfying. He kissed her shoulder and she shivered.

"Good girl," he muttered. "Oh gods. I'll never walk again." She shook with laughter in response, and he couldn't help but smile, too.

"Sirius..." she turned her head and his lips found her cheek and her temple and her neck. She rolled on her side, forcing him to pull out of her. The feeling of him leaving the sanctuary of her body had them both groaning. He slumped beside her, facing her. Her cheeks were flushed. Little tendrils stuck to her temples with sweat. Her lips were deep pink and wetted by her tongue. She looked like Titania in her bower. She reached for his face and cupped it.

"Do you regret volunteering?" she asked.

His chest welled with an unbidden sensation. "No."

"Then what's been bothering you?"

Sirius took her hand from his face and held it tightly against his chest. "You know... what we've had these last few years has felt so dear to me."

"Me, too."

"I have been alone a long time. This is... being married. Under these circumstances. The fact that it's you. It's overwhelming."

Hermione propped her head up on her hand. "Did you think I wasn't nervous?" She smiled sweetly as he squeezed their clasped hands. "There are so many things about this arrangement which aren't normal. At least we like each other."

Sirius thumbed the finger which bore the ring that united them. "If it weren't for the idiotic initiative... I'd still be wondering what your skin felt like."

"You don't know it wouldn't have happened."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't I?"

"Why do you honestly think I lurk around your office?"

"...because you pity an old man?"

She laughed. "You're not old."

"Older than you by... a fair amount."

"Yes, but witches mature faster than wizards," she said, eyes glinting with amusement. "I've been trying to hint to you for a while, you numpty!"

"...if you have, it's lost on me."

"Are you kidding? I touch you all the time, I bring you tea, I wear low-cut tops--"

"You are too subtle!"

"You should get your eyes checked, old man--"

He straddled her and pinned her with a gruff harrumph. She snickered as he laid his head on her sternum. Her fingers found their way into his hair... the sensation of her finger tips running over his scalp. Mesmerizing. Little prickly tingles ran down his spine.

His eyes snapped open, and he blew a harsh breath across her breast. She hummed in curiosity.

"I might be a terrible father," he blurted.

Hermione tugged on his hair playfully. "It is probably going to take more than one shag to get pregnant, so... let's not worry about being good parents yet. Let's enjoy each other naked. Nevermind why."

He nosed her nipple. "I can't talk you out of this."

"Not after what you did to my body." She rubbed his neck. "Or, you know, the contract."

Sirius propped himself up on his elbow. "Small details." She laughed. "Share a bath with me?"

"If you don't mind my soap."

"I'm sure I smell like you already." Sirius kissed her and she wrinkled her nose at him. He turned over and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rolling his neck. Well. His body certainly remembered how to do that just fine... the recovery might take longer than he remembered, with the way his knees were shaking. Hermione skipped ahead of him, pausing at the door to cast him one last look. 

"Coming?"

He shook his head in disbelief. Her head fell back as she laughed--fully-bellied and unashamed.

**Author's Note:**

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